


Caught in the (Almost) Act

by thegrumblingirl



Series: Protocols [2]
Category: Almost Human
Genre: M/M, as per request ;), sequel to I Have a Fix for That, the olive oil just won't go away
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-01
Updated: 2013-12-01
Packaged: 2018-01-03 03:54:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1065465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegrumblingirl/pseuds/thegrumblingirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this,” John muttered as he took the bottle of olive oil from Dorian’s other hand, the one that wasn’t resting on his shin. He still hadn’t said anything about that.</p><p>He was about to pour a measure of oil into the cup of his hand when, suddenly, the door burst open. John jumped and nearly spilt the oil, cursing, while Dorian whirled around to face the intruder. He remained squatting next to John’s leg, but he had spread his arms to block the view of John’s exposed limb, his right hand gripping the back of the chair John was sitting on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caught in the (Almost) Act

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AntaresofJuly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AntaresofJuly/gifts).
  * Translation into 中文 available: [[翻译] （差点）被抓到 by thegrumblingirl'](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1098267) by [AntaresofJuly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AntaresofJuly/pseuds/AntaresofJuly)



> Sequel to _[I Have a Fix for That](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1050420)_. AntaresofJuly requested a follow-up where none other than Det. Paul busts in on them. Facepalming by all involved ensues.

“I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this,” John muttered as he took the bottle of olive oil from Dorian’s other hand, the one that wasn’t resting on his shin. He still hadn’t said anything about that.

He was about to pour a measure of oil into the cup of his hand when, suddenly, the door burst open. John jumped and nearly spilt the oil, cursing, while Dorian whirled around to face the intruder. He remained squatting next to John’s leg, but he had spread his arms to block the view of John’s exposed limb, his right hand gripping the back of the chair John was sitting on.

“What the fuck?” Paul’s voice echoed through the glass-panelled room. He had left the door open behind himself and the din and clutter from the bullpen reached their ears. John suppressed a weary sigh. Of all the people who could have busted in on them, it had to be the asshole with a grudge.

For a second, they were caught in a stalemate. John was fixing Paul with a glare, Dorian, judging by the blue circuits lighting up, was accessing his database to figure out whether citing workspace regulations would be a good idea just now, and Paul just stood there, frozen to the spot, while his face was rapidly running through every facial expression between disbelief and disgust. At last, he decided he had enough.

“Kennex, what the everloving fuck?” he repeated. “Are you, are you that desperate? Seriously? Are your balls so blue that you would drop your pants for a _synthetic_?”

Dorian’s fingers tightened on the plastic of John’s chair. John growled at the other detective, who was still flicking his eyes between John’s almost naked lower half, the oil in his hand, and the DRN crouching on the floor beside him.

“We’re not huge fans of that term,” was the only thing Kennex offered in reply.

“Dude,” Paul continued, “there’s a time and a place for everything, and a precinct is not it. John, listen to me.” His tone had suddenly turned cajoling, and John instinctively scrunched up his nose. Going by the look on Dorian’s face, he found the change as disturbing as he did. “I know your girlfriend up and left you while you were playing vegetable, but that’s no reason to stoop so low. Not with… something like that.” He jerked his chin at Dorian.

Before John could tell the man to fuck off and punch his own head through a wall, Dorian stood up, squaring up to Paul. “I’m not some _thing_ , and my name is Dorian.”

Paul leaned to the side to talk to John around Dorian, continuing as if he hadn’t heard him. “And if it absolutely has to be something with circuits and wires, there’s bots for this sort of thing, too. At least they know what they’re doing — and they like it, too.”

John narrowed his eyes, but Dorian beat him to it.

“If you’re implying that Detective Kennex was trying to force himself on me, you had better leave right now.”

“Aww, how sweet! It likes you! Look, John, just pull up your pants, get out of here, we’ll forget this ever happened.”

John desperately wished he could get up without his pants bunching at his ankles, but him falling flat on his face before he could land a punch would only make matters worse. Instead, he took one look at Dorian’s right fist, clenched tight, and decided to actually explain what was going on. ‘Forget this ever happened’ was just another way of Paul dangling this over their heads as blackmail material whenever convenient. Paul was only waiting for John to wreck his own career, and Dorian’s in the process, but he seemed glad to help when an opportunity presented itself — and they’d just handed him one on a silver platter. John was sure that he could square this with Maldonado, but he’d rather not test her patience unduly at the moment.

“Dorian, let him see.”

“But —” Dorian turned to look at Kennex over his shoulder. He raised his eyebrows, and Dorian shook his head. “Fine.” Stepping aside, he gestured for Paul to get a good look.

“My leg is acting up sometimes. The knee joint,” Kennex indicated the limb’s weak spot. “It’s been alerting me that it isn’t fully calibrated all day, so Dorian suggested I use olive oil. He was just showing me where the right screws are when you dumbass interrupted.” Finally, he took up the bottle of oil again and poured some into his hand. Before he could twist to put the bottle on the table, Dorian stepped forward again to take it out of his grasp. They briefly made eye contact before Dorian dropped his gaze and went to put the cap back on.

Paul was staring at John as if he’d grown a new head, or three. “Are you shitting me? You really think I believe that?”

“Believe whatever the hell you want,” John spat while rubbing his hands together, warming up the oil, before going for his knee and massaging into the artificial skin where Dorian had indicated. He looked over his shoulder at Dorian, who nodded almost imperceptibly. Satisfied, John bent down to grab his pants. He stood up, testing his leg by bending his knees a few times. The squeaking turned very quiet and then stopped entirely. John’s eyes shot back to Dorian’s, who smiled. “Smooth,” John commented, smiling himself.

Next to them, Paul was pressing two fingers against the bridge of his nose. John rounded on him.

“Happy now?” John snapped. He stepped forward into Paul’s space. “Breathe a word of this to anyone, and you’ll be sorry.”

“Alright, alright!” Paul held up his hands in mock-surrender. “But you two had better keep your hands off of each other out in the field, or you’ll be suspended,” he pointed an accusing finger at John, “so fast you won’t know what hit you. And you,” the finger moved to waggle in Dorian’s face, whose lips curled in distaste, “will find yourself on the scrap heap.”

Kennex rolled his eyes. “Any of that is for Captain Maldonado to decide, Paul.” He caught Dorian’s gaze and indicated the door. Moving past the detective, he quietly enjoyed the way his knee took his weight without complaint.

“You know it’s what’s left of your career down the drain if you get caught doing the dirty with your Wall-E partner, right?”

“Whatever you say, Paul,” John tossed over his shoulder, descending the steps and striding across the bullpen with Dorian at his side. Neither of them noticed that their steps matched, now.


End file.
